For eight years, the village of Novotoshkivs’ke has lived under the fire of bombs, caught between the positions of the Ukrainian army and those of the pro-Russian separatists. In this small hamlet in the Luhansk region, bordered by minefields and lulled by a sea of absurdity, the shadow of death devours a little more each day the 600 or so souls who cling there.
Passing the checkpoint of the Ukrainian authorities located a few kilometers from the front line, Daryna Safryhina cannot help praising the bucolic landscape that stretches on both sides of the demarcation line.
“When I used to come here every day by bus, my neck hurt from looking out the window. When the leaves are green, it’s really beautiful! “, she confided to the Homework a few days before the Russian offensive.
A beauty that contrasts bitterly with the fatality of this war which has claimed some 14,000 lives in the Donbass region, in Ukraine, since 2014. “The day before yesterday, artillery fire hit the village, says the young woman from 28 years old. There were no injuries, but residents lost power. »
A single road makes it possible to reach Novotoshkivs’ke, located about thirty kilometers from the city of Lyssytchansk. A path full of holes that skirts the open territory occupied by the militias sponsored financially and militarily by Russia. A road crisscrossed at high speed on this Monday afternoon in February, the seat belts unfastened to be able to react quickly in the event of an attack.
“The shelling and shootings were so intense here in 2014 that most of the inhabitants left,” Daryna reports as she arrives in the village after racing down the road. There is not a single roof in Novotoshkivs’ke that has not been repaired. »
Bombings
Less than ten streets crisscross the hamlet originally built to accommodate 3,000 people. Torn curtains fall from windows of abandoned apartments whose panes have shattered over the years. A children’s park located in the heart of the village is deserted on this sunny afternoon. And suddenly the bombs start raining down with a terrifying roar.
“They fall a kilometer or two from here. We are used to it, ”slips Daryna. Despite the darkening sky, the teachers are present at the village school. But the approximately 70 students who attend it have been following distance education for four weeks due to COVID-19.
“The daycare generally remains open. But no parents brought children this morning, because of the shelling and shooting that also took place yesterday,” explains Natalia Dotsenko, director of studies.
In 2014, a wing of the school was destroyed by bombing, she says. “We had to hastily cover the 186 windows whose panes had shattered,” recalls the concierge, Natalia Burhat. We used everything we had at hand: maps, blankets…”
Since then, a shelter has been set up in the basement of the school to accommodate the students and the people of the village in the event of an attack. “We do rehearsals so that the students know how to react,” explains Natalia Burhat. The older ones have learned to take care of the little ones. »
The shelter is filled with water bottles, blankets and benches arranged around the edges of the rooms. “We put pink and yellow paint on the walls this winter to make it more welcoming for children,” continues the director of studies.
How do these students grow up with this constant reminder that death lurks all around? “We all have trauma here, adults and children alike,” says Natalia Burhat, herself the mother of two boys. We are constantly waiting to find out where the next bomb will fall. My children have learned to distinguish the sounds of shooting or shelling. They know that when they are directed to the village, they must return. »
But why live like this on the front line? “There is no one who can welcome me with my family elsewhere, explains the lady with a frank gaze. My mother-in-law has both legs amputated, she can’t leave. And my parents don’t want to leave either. »
“It’s my life, these children”
Over the years, the village has emptied. Only one person has gone the other way: Daryna Safryhina, who decided to move to Novotoshkivs’ke in 2016 to teach English there. “I had come near the front line to give food and support to the Ukrainian soldiers and I saw how much this village needed help,” she explains.
For four years – despite the bombs and the future of the village amputated by the war – the young woman taught the students the basics of the language of Shakespeare. But above all, she made the children understand – caught up in this conflict much bigger than themselves – that they, too, were important. “They told me all the time that no one was coming and staying in the village. Just organizations helping for a while and then leaving. »
Daryna has since stopped teaching, but she continues to come one or two days a week to Novotoshkivs’ke. “It’s my life, these children. I love them. And they are waiting for me every week,” she says in the small apartment she still keeps in the village.
In this two-room apartment, children find a safe place to express themselves. “They come to my house. We play music, we sing, we do puzzles. They talk to me about everything, about what is happening at school, about their problems, about the fact that they are no longer able to leave the village since there are no more buses passing…” A sort of buoy in this sea of absurdity.
On the walls, words have been drawn by hand by the teenagers. “Born to be free” sits in big letters next to “Fear is a lie”. Daryna also left traces of her love for God there. “It’s only because of my faith that I keep coming to this war zone,” she said.
Russian speakers
As the day draws to a close, a bus comes to pick up the teachers who live in the neighboring villages. A few meters away, a man driving a truck stops to fill with his cargo of water bottles brought to him by the inhabitants. Around, the bombs continue to fall.
“I always wonder if this is the beginning or the end [des bombardements] that I hear. And I always wonder if I should leave or stay,” sighs Halina Yeliseieva, who walks next to her granddaughter. “My life is fear and anxiety. I never know what will happen. »
Like the vast majority of residents of the region, Halina Yeliseieva is Russian-speaking, but she does not believe a word of the claims of Vladimir Putin, who repeats ad nauseam that Russian-speaking Ukrainians are persecuted in the east of the country. “Everyone treats us well here. I have always been able to speak Russian, she says. We absolutely do not need to be saved! »
What must rather be saved are the plots of life that cling to this village camped against its will on the front line, believes Anatoly Kuznetsov. “I’ve lived here for 100 years,” joked the old man. “But there are no more jobs, no more businesses, hardly anyone living here now. It’s a village that is going to die,” he says, as the roar of the bombs continues to be heard nearly two hours after they started.
Bombardments which, each day, annihilate a little more the brilliance of this village. “But if you only knew how beautiful it was before. »
With Max Krizhanivsky and Bohdan Chaban
This report was financed thanks to the support of the Transat International Journalism Fund.The duty.